


i lose my voice when i look at you

by bi_tlejuice



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Gay, M/M, Past Abuse, Requited Love, just dudes being bros, ment of rape/non-con, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:13:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21834991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bi_tlejuice/pseuds/bi_tlejuice
Summary: Charlie never meant to become like, a whore or anything, he thinks as he wakes up. If present-him had found last-year him and gone 'hey, in a year's time you'll be so desperate for money that you're gonna let strange men do weird stuff to you that you hate', last-year him would have punched him in the face. Well- last-year him was doing that whole 'crack-cocaine binge' thing with Frank, so he probably would have gotten too high and killed himself or something, but that isn't the point.or4 times the gang nearly catch charlie hooking and the 1 time that they do. also, charlie is in love with mac.
Relationships: Charlie Kelly/Mac McDonald
Comments: 7
Kudos: 116





	i lose my voice when i look at you

**Author's Note:**

> tw: this fic talks about non-con a bit towards the end, and also describes the build up to something non-con but it is stopped. if you want to skip this, skip 5. and go to +1. also please comment!

**1.** It starts with a "wait, this is the second time I've seen you shower today," from Mac, who's still at the bar at 2am when Charlie returns for some reason. Dennis is there too, only Dennis passed out half an hour after the bar closed (according to Mac) because Cricket came by to drop off some blow that turned out to be crushed up sleeping pills in exchange for four beers. Anyway, Dennis sniffed it and fell asleep, Mac checked his pulse to make sure he wasn't dead and then carried on drinking in the bar because Dennis had been his ride home. This is all the information that is unloaded onto Charlie when he enters the bar, Mac seemingly too drunk to ask where he's been or why he came back. So he locks the door, sets up a screen of menus for food they don't serve and never did, and gets in the sink. 

"Uh, no dude," is all he can think of to say back - Mac's drunk, though, so he probably won't dispute it.

"Weird," comes his response after a few seconds of showering have passed. "I could've sworn you were showering before we opened."

"Nah, dude."

"You've definitely been showering more though. In eighth grade you told me you only showered once a week-"

"I _knew_ I shouldn't have told you that," Charlie interrupts, pouring half a bottle of dish soap over his body and scrubbing his skin raw with the sponge Frank bought him last week. "Uh, yeah man- you guys always, always give me shit for like- _oh, Charlie smells so bad,_ or, or _why does your skin have that layer of dirt_. So now I'm clean."

"Yeah, but like," Mac pauses to hiccup and drain the rest of his beer, tossing the can into a pile of about ten others. "We've all been giving you shit for like, fifteen years. What changed now?"

"Nothing! Nothing- nothing changed, so like, I don't even know why you would, would ask that." Charlie thanks Mac's God that Mac is drunk - historically, there has always been a clear divide into which situations Charlie is good at lying in, and which situations he isn't. Planning a lie and executing it almost _always_ works, and normally he can get by when people question it. But when Mac questions him, he always crumbles. 

"Wanna get a cab to mine?" he suggests, seemingly dropping it (or, due to the drunkness, likely forgetting it) and waving his phone around in the air. "You can pay."

Charlie wants to flip him off, but he also knows he won't sleep if he goes back to his own apartment, and Dennis gets really angry when he falls asleep on the toilet floor instead of cleaning, so he finishes soaping himself and clambers out. "Whatever, dude," he says, but he calls a cab anyway.

-

Charlie never _meant_ to become like, a whore or anything, he thinks as he wakes up. If present-him had found last-year him and gone _hey, in a year's time you'll be so desperate for money that you're gonna let strange men do weird stuff to you that you hate_ , last-year him would have punched him in the face. Well- last-year him was doing that whole 'crack-cocaine binge' thing with Frank, so he probably would have gotten too high and killed himself or something, but that isn't the point. It's just- now, he's making enough to pay rent and clean up his place a bit and all that, but not enough that he could stop and wouldn't end up running out of money again. And there's a couple of regular guys who just show up to his apartment whether he wants to see them or not (and there was that one time that Scary Buff Man broke down his door and pissed on his kitchen floor because he wasn't around) so it's not like he can just stop. 

Whatever. It makes him like cleaning the bar a lot more.

Beside him, Mac groans into the duvet and pulls the pillow on top of his head. "Man," is all he manages, voice cracked and croaky, and Charlie finds himself offering a glass of water without thinking about it. "Is Dennis alive?" he yawns, squeezing his eyes shut to avoid the tiny cracks of light coming in through the blinds and groping around in the air for the water. Charlie thinks about the twenty-three texts Dennis sent Mac when he woke up and how annoying the vibrations were. 

"Yeah, he was texting you."

"Aw, fucker. I bet he's mad. Why'd we leave him there?" Mac looks soft and well slept, Charlie's favourite kind of Mac that he only gets to see when they're both drunk enough to sleep in the same bed. His arms are loosely curled around a pillow, muscular but still very soft and Charlie kind of wants to be the pillow. 

"I don't- I'm not sure, man. You said to call a cab to yours, so I did."

Mac nods, stretches upwards until his shoulders pop. "Wait, why were you back in the bar?"

"Oh, uh," Charlie stutters out, because he'd kind of been counting on Mac not remembering he'd ever left the bar. "Oh, y'know. I don't know, I guess."

"Jesus, man. How much did you drink?" he sighs, chuckling a little before shifting his legs off the bed. "I'm gonna shower."

Charlie loves Mac in the same way that Dennis loves Dennis. Unconditionally, undeniably, always has and always will. But also, not in the same way at all. Dennis wants the world to know how much he loves himself, would shout it from the rooftops if he had the chance. Charlie's love for Mac is a secret, something to be held close to his chest and never, ever shared. It moves around - sometime's it's the knots in his stomach or the spiders crawling up his spine, or sometimes it's Mac's arm around him when he's sad or Mac's mouth next to his ear when they're both too drunk and whispering so Dee doesn't try and join in on the conversation. It grows, and shrinks sometimes but not often, weaving its way around his ribs like vines melding to the lattice outside his house Mac used to climb to hang out with him at night. Mac coming out as gay didn't change anything at all, because it wasn't like Charlie hadn't already known. Mac's move from denial to acceptance made Charlie's heart swell, but then it calmed down, because Mac being gay didn't equate to loving Charlie back. Charlie loves Mac in the same way Dennis loves Dennis, except not at all, because whilst Charlie catches Dennis winking at himself in the mirror all the time, Charlie rarely stares at Mac and catches him staring back. 

-

 **2.** The next time the gang brush upon catching him but don't really manage it is on a Thursday night, a night so painfully quiet at the bar that Dee and Dennis start arguing about something-or-other and it hurts his head, so he crawls into the air duct and debates whether it's bad enough to go to the bad room. Ultimately, he remembers there's thirty beer bottles in there and decides yes, but when he's on his way he hears the four of them having a much more quietened conversation.

"...yeah, but- I don't know, don't you think he's just being a bit- a bit _off_?" comes Mac from where Charlie presumes is behind the bar. 

"It's Charlie," Frank scoffs, "he's always been a bit off." He's not wrong, but whatever. Charlie is still mad that Frank moved out to hide from the police for tax fraud and subsequently stopped paying rent.

"No, I agree," Dee pipes in, at the same time that Dennis tells her to shut up. "He's like, way cleaner than normal-" she pauses and there's a low _thump_ , and Dennis stops repeatedly telling her to shut up. "And like, he asked for a lift to work the other day but he freaked out when I tried to come into his apartment." That was technically true. Dee always shoved her way into his apartment whenever she came to pick him up, but it's not like he didn't have good reason not to let her in. There were about eight used condoms in plain sight on and around his bed, as well as several stacks of cash and the shoes of some guy who clearly did not belong to Charlie (why the guy left without his shoes, he wasn't sure.)

"How haven't you guys worked it out yet?" Dennis says after a pause, and Charlie can hear the eye-roll from the smugness dripping off his voice and starts to feel very, very sick. "He's dealing drugs!"

Hmm. Well, not quite. A better alternative, probably, and he'd much rather them think that than actually know the truth. 

"No way, dude- what?" says Mac, voice higher in pitch and indicating some kind of upset-ness. Without looking at his face Charlie really doesn't know how to interpret this, but he doesn't like it one bit. "Why?"

"Because he's piss poor ever since I moved out, right? I offered to foot the rent a few times, so- oh, maybe I did go and forget," Frank grumbles, sounding what Charlie hopes is guilty, because he _did._

"Yeah, exactly! Haven't you seen how much cash he carries round? His bank statement says his account has been empty for like, eight months." Why is Dennis reading his bank statement?

"Jesus," is all Mac says, but he sounds convinced, because Mac through and through is a huge idiot, and Charlie keeps crawling to the bad room because he doesn't need to hear anymore. 

-

 **3**. The third time he's nearly caught he barely remembers anything.

What he gets told by Mac is that he showed up outside his and Dennis' apartment at 4:30 in the morning with a black eye, a bruised neck and off his fucking face on paint thinner. What he finds out in the morning is that there's a trickle of dried blood and other stuff down the inside of his thigh and two hundred bucks gone from his apartment, and he pieces the rest of it together. It was the shoe guy, he thinks, because he remembers him arriving after he'd wanted to go to bed. He was already quite high, but he'd left the door unlocked and the six foot whatever guy had walked in and demanded that he strip. Charlie remembers saying no, then he doesn't remember anything else. 

"What the _fuck_ is going on with you, dude?" Mac says quietly, and Charlie knows Dennis is already awake so the softness in his voice is just for him. "You're worrying me," he continues, dabbing a cut on Charlie's eyebrow with a wad of cotton and some rubbing alcohol they found in Dennis' room. 

"I- I don't," he slurs, smiling despite the situation and the burning in his shoulders. "D'wanna do it. Anymore. 've had en- enough."

"Had enough of what, dude?"

Charlie takes hold of Mac's shoulder where he's kneeling next to the sofa and promptly loses consciousness.

In the afternoon, he wakes up while Mac is at the gym and Dennis is cleaning the kitchen and singing something that sounds German and anthem-y. Catching sight of himself in the blank TV screen, he sees his swollen eye and shifting makes his thighs burn and he remembers, kind of. Then he barely gets to drop to the bathroom floor before the bile rising in his throat is emptying down the toilet bowl. Dennis brings him water and stands next to him, waiting for him to finish, not helpful but not unhelpful either. 

"You've got to stop this, Charlie. I know you need the money, but dealing drugs just isn't worth all of this." Charlie doesn't stay quiet, because he can hardly claim he isn't doing that _now_ or Dennis will likely catch on to what he's actually doing. "Mac wouldn't stop going _on_ and _on_ about how _worried_ he was all morning, and it got really annoying."

Charlie just wipes his mouth with the back of his hands and sits back, not having the energy to glare at Dennis. "Fuck off," he manages weakly, waiting for the room to stop spinning so he can clear out of here as soon as possible. For all he knows, his apartment door is wide open. 

"I made you a grilled cheese," is the only response he gets, so maybe Dennis isn't that bad. 

**4**. It's getting ridiculous how oblivious they all seem to be by the fourth time. Mac, Frank and Dennis are all sat on Charlie's grubby sofa admiring how he's scrubbed all of the walls and actually vacuumed for the first time since he moved in. Sure, it was a product of about two weeks of very little sleep, but they're clearly impressed so he doesn't feel the need to enlighten them with this fact. There's two joints being passed around the circle, and four beers that aren't being passed around, and Dennis and Mac are playing Mortal Kombat on Charlie's shitty TV. Over the last few months there hasn't really been a moment that Charlie has spent in his apartment and- well, pick from the list. Enjoyed, slept well, been remotely happy, been sober. He may not be sober now, but he's a lot _more_ sober than normal, and he's definitely kind of happy with the weed and the chats and the way Mac's knee keeps bumping his when he leans forward to yell at the TV. 

But of course, what the Lord giveth the Lord will taketh away. Charlie is a simple man who asks for simple things, and they are given and then taken away with four sharp bangs on his apartment door. He knows the knock instantly, the only one he's put effort into memorising because it's the only one he really, truly dreads hearing. The three men look at him when he makes no effort to move, but seem to accept it when he just shakes his head and carry on watch Dennis losing against Mac.

" _Open up, darlin', before I kick this fuckin' door down._ " Another bang on the door, loud enough to make the frames on the wall rattle. This, unsurprisingly, makes Frank put the joint he's holding down and Mac pause the game. 

"Charlie," he stage whispers, all three of them watching him watch the door. "Who's that?"

"I- uh, I don't, uh? I don't know?"

"Why don't you _answer it?_ " Dennis hisses, hands poised as if he's about to push himself off the couch and run. When Charlie just shakes his head the three of them turn to watch the door with him.

" _I'm serious, sweetheart. No more games! I'll fuckin' come in there!"_

"Mac, you're the biggest. I'll answer the door if you come with me," Frank grumbles, rolling himself off the couch and beckoning Mac towards the door. Both of them are too far to hear Charlie's whispered _don't_ , _don't, don't_ mantra on repeat like it's the only thought he's ever had. Before he can muster the courage to tell him, Mac opens it, blocking the doorway menacingly as Frank's hand rests on the gun in his waistband.

"What do you want, buddy?" says Mac, and Charlie thinks about how if he didn't know Mac that would probably be intimidating. Instead he does know Mac, knows how he taps his foot lightly when he's nervous, how he blinks too much when he's forcing eye contact and how his voice is exactly one tone higher when he's scared. Charlie is glad the man doesn't know Mac.

" _Oh, I'm sorry boys. I didn't realise y'all were here. Put a sign on the door or somethin' next time_." And with that he turns and leaves, not even looking at Charlie once.

"Huh," Mac says, deflating after he closes the door. "Maybe he got the wrong house?"

-

 **5**. The man comes back later that week, but this time Mac isn't here to scare him away. Charlie curls up in the crevice and tightens his hands over his ears, hoping that if he can't hear the man he'll just go away. When he came home he locked the door and put the chain on, as well as bolting the windows, so there's no way he can get in. 

Charlie's front door slams open with a bang as it ricochets off the wall, and the man is inside his apartment.

"Uh, I'm- not now, sorry. Closed. It's closed," he tries, but the man has shut the door behind him and kicked his shoes off. "Please- uh, please go."

"Not this again, darlin'. C'mon, clothes off now." Charlie knows this is his fault for charging the man extra to _play_ _rough,_ but in his defence he had no idea it would lead to this. He should've made the line between _playing rough_ and _get out of my apartment_ clearer.

"No," he's partway through saying, raising his head from the crevice as the man clamps a wet cloth to his face and nose. _Fuck_ , Charlie tries to say, but it comes out as some kind of jarbled blur as he slowly loses the ability to fight back. Clock ticking in his head slows along with time itself despite him desperately gripping on to consciousness, and he ends up in some kind of weird state. He can move, just about, but his limbs take much longer to respond than normal and everything seems to be happening before he has the chance to comprehend it.

"Don't worry," the man says, his breath burning the back of Charlie's neck. "I'll treat you right as long as you stay quiet, love."

 _Stay quiet_ , he thinks, immediately trying to yell and kick the man away. Some kind of hoarse screaming does come out but it's patchy at best, the kind that nobody that isn't very nearby would hear, and nobody who lives nearby would think to investigate. He manages one kick to the man's stomach before he easily slams Charlie onto his stomach, twisting his arms and pinning them behind his back until his screaming turns into pathetic whining in pain. 

"Fine, baby, you want it rough? I can do _rough,_ " he sneers, biting down on Charlie's shoulder and grinding up against him when he yells out. "Yeah, you like that? Just you wait." And then Charlie's sweats are being yanked down with his boxers, and he's forced up onto his knees with his face buried in the sheets. His body has stopped responding to all the movement he tries so he squeezes his eyes shut and waits for the pain-

Somewhere, what feels like miles away, there's a _thwack_ and suddenly there's no hands holding his arms back anymore. His boxers and sweats are yanked back up and he drops onto the bed, using the rhythmic thumping noises to bring him back down from panic and try and control his breathing. A recognizable voice is shouting at the man, telling him if he _ever_ comes back here it'll be the last time he does _anything_ and the front door is slamming.

This is when Charlie lets himself start to cry. His body half-curls up but he can't manage the rest so he just lays there, face in the pillows and tears soaking the sheets.

" _It's me, it's me, I'm gonna roll you over so please don't freak,_ " he hears, so he forces himself to ignore the spike of panic he gets from a tight hand on his arm. And then Mac is looking down at him, cradling his face and arms and Charlie lets go completely, sobbing loudly into the ruined air of his apartment. Mac's face shifts and sways but it's definitely him and he definitely just kicked the shit out of the man. They sit there for twenty minutes unmoving - other than Mac grabbing a bucket for Charlie to vomit in - because that's how long it takes for Charlie to calm down. It's only when the room stops spinning that he sits up, looks at Mac's split lip and bruised knuckles and wet eyes.

"Hey," he says weakly, the shivers racking his body leading Mac to sling an arm around him and pull him closer. "Uh, thanks."

Mac doesn't speak, seemingly doesn't even know what to say, just brings Charlie's forehead to his mouth and murmurs something before pressing their heads together. "Are- are you hooking, Charlie? Is that what you're doing for money?"

Charlie swallows, throat burning, and can't look anywhere other than Mac's eyes. "Yes."

Mac blinks, sighs. Leans back, giving Charlie the opportunity to look around his apartment again, to see the blood smears on the wall and the broken chair and the door still not shut properly, and leans over the bed to vomit in the bucket again. "Shower," he decides, and Mac's there immediately to help him stand.

"Can you walk?"

The answer turns out to be no, so Mac resorts to scooping him up in his arms and carrying him out of the apartment, kicking the door shut behind him and it takes all of Charlie's strength not to start crying again then and there because this is the safest he's felt in _months_. He's still woozy from whatever the man tried to drug him with (clearly he's never drugged anyone before, because even Charlie knows you're supposed to hold it there longer than that) but he has his voice back, so the car ride to Mac's is filled with his broken babbling about how his apartment is ruined and he doesn't want to do it anymore. Mac's silent, mostly spending the car ride actually watching the road, but other than changing gear his hand doesn't leave Charlie's. Then, just after he pulls up and Charlie absent-mindedly realises this is Dennis' car, he lets go and turns to face him. 

"I swear to you, dude- for as long as I live I will _never_ let anyone hurt you like that again."

-

+1. Things are kind of different after that. Everyone knows, because Dennis started badgering Mac as soon as Charlie was in the bathroom and didn't stop until Charlie got out of the shower forty-five minutes later. The water ran cold half an hour in and he had to sit in order to remain conscious, but he was too busy trying to scrub the man's touch from his skin and didn't- no, couldn't stop until he felt clean. Mac knocked on the door to tell him to get out, but no matter how much soap he had used when the shower was turned off, he could still feel him holding his arms back. Mac comes in as soon as Charlie unlocks the door with a worn pair of grey sweatpants that aren't Charlie's, as well as some underwear and a t-shirt that says _GYM AND TONIC_. 

"You said- uh, you said you liked wearing my clothes when you were sad. I can get your sweats if you like, but, uh-" he trails off, waving the clothes around in the air slightly as if he thinks Charlie can't see them. Which, to be fair, he is having trouble focusing on anything until he sits down on the toilet seat. "You want them, dude?" he tries again, and Charlie nods, feels the man's hand pulling in his hair and stops nodding. "Please- uh, please say something, man."

"I want them," he speaks up, throat burning hoarse from screaming earlier and Mac is gone for a second before coming back with some water. It's the worst few seconds of Charlie's life. "Don't do that?" he asks, holding the towel with one hand and gulping down the water with the other. "Uh, leave. Unless, like, you want to, or anything. I don't know," he clarifies with very little clarity.

Mac gets it, because when doesn't he? "I'm not going anywhere, man."

-

Dennis makes him have the next day off and installs new locks on his apartment door while he's napping in Mac's bed. Frank struggles to look him in the eye, at first, but says he's payed Charlie's rent in advance for the next six months under the name 'Drank Freynolds', which he's convinced will be untraceable, and Charlie doesn't really see the need to argue. Everyone and everything pretty much goes back to normal- well.

Everything other than Mac. 

From the day he finds out and onward, something is... different. Different _how_ exactly, Charlie isn't sure, because he's never been good at picking up on what certain changes in mood mean, or even how to verbalise his own moods, but it's definitely something. When Mac is speaking to Charlie, everything is softer; quieter voices, more eye contact (when Charlie feels up to it) and more general physical contact. The issue with Charlie has always been that he loves physical contact as long as two rules are applied; it's someone he likes a great deal, and he has to initiate it. The thing with this is that most people just assume he hates it, and by the time he likes them enough they're already comfortable with keeping a distance. Mac was always different because Mac was the only person who 12-year-old Charlie wanted to explain this to. So they held hands, and shared beds and hugs and everything until Mac got called a faggot when he was fifteen. 

_It happens when he's not even thinking about it, and it's the first time he realises that maybe not everyone feels this way about their best friends. Absentmindedly, he reaches for Mac's hand, just because it's cold and Mac is warmer than the stupid coat his mom makes him wear whenever it snows. But_ _Mac snatches his hand away, shoves it roughly in his own pocket even though Mac hates having his hands in his pockets. "What, are you fucking gay or something? Don't do that," he hisses, and some kind of painful hole opens up in Charlie's stomach because he doesn't get what he did wrong._

_Then Mac checks over his shoulder, and Charlie's ears catch up with his brain to register that Mac's voice was fronted with anger but laced with fear, and he gets it._

When they left high school, it got a bit better, and when Mac came out it was restored to nearly the same level of comfort they shared as kids, but it stayed there no matter how much Charlie leaned into Mac whenever they were sat together. Then Charlie reminded himself through a lot of self-conditioning - and also a lot of nights in his apartment _fucked_ on drugs, trying to explain what was wrong to Frank without revealing what was wrong at all - that just because Mac was gay it didn't mean he was interested. So they hugged goodbye, and hello, and bumped knees whenever they were sat at the bar together, and that was it.

But now, Mac won't _stop_ touching him. Lets Charlie initiate it every time, of course, but past then there's hand squeezing and arm rubbing and the many times Charlie's woken up screaming in the middle of the night (don't worry, it's normal) and found himself coddled and cuddled back to sleep by Mac. It almost feels like. Charlie doesn't know how to explain it.

Like all of these little events are building up to _something._ Each brush of their fingers when Mac hands him a beer bottle and every other thing is piling up inside his chest, planting something new and it feels like his lungs are going to burst. It's good, in a way it's exhilarating because his heart races every time he catches Mac staring at him, like he's fourteen again and so lost in watching Mac talk that he can't even hear what he's saying. But also, it's terrifying, horrible in a way that makes him wish it was gone just so it wasn't painfully writhing around in his stomach. 

It happens, the big moment, on the most normal day in the world. It's quiet in an average way in the bar, and Frank seems to have decided he's avoided arrest and is happy to walk around the bar no longer wearing a fake mustache. They're all reasonably drunk and recovering from Dennis' insistence that he could do the worm and making them all watch when Charlie leans his head on Mac's shoulder. All he wants is to carry on losing his shit at how much Dee is ripping into Dennis, because it's sounding a lot like she's talking him into proving he can do it again, and-

"Now Charlie, I gotta ask- are you gay now?" Frank cuts in, and the room drops to silence. Dee kicks him, hard, but he just shoves her off her bar stool and they all collectively ignore her on the floor as they wait for Frank to keep talking. "I know we aren't 'sposed to ask, but- I don't know! I just kinda assumed you were hookin' with men 'cause of your Uncle Jack and all that, but now you and Mac have been gettin' all touchy-feely, and we already _know_ Mac's gay." Charlie blinks, fingers tightening around the neck of his beer and trying to subtly put as much distance between him and Mac as possible as he tries to figure out what the fuck Frank means. "I had to ask, man, don't look at me all hurt like that," is what he says, maybe. Charlie can't hear him over the thumping in his ears and the air constricting around his chest.

He can't breathe. Why did Frank bring up his uncle Jack? He knows why, except he doesn't want anyone else to know why but they do, they're all just waiting for a response and suddenly Charlie isn't in the bar anymore and the beer bottle he was holding is just the neck of smashed glass. There's blood trickling down his palm but he turns left and just fucking legs it.

-

Mac gets there about a half-hour after he does. He probably knew Charlie would come here before Charlie did. Charlie doesn't move when the car pulls up, nor when the door slams, nor when he hears feet running over in the gravel. Mac says "it's me, don't freak," because he's Charlie's best friend and he _understands_ before he drops onto the floor next to Charlie and throws an arm around him. It's warm and Charlie wants to lean into it, to say _fuck it, can't remember why I came here but let's just go back to the bar_ but he can't do that anymore so he throws it off.

"I'll kill Frank," Mac mutters darkly, but he doesn't leave, just stays right by Charlie's side in just a tank top even though it's _winter_ and waits for him to make the first move.

"I- I don't want to talk about him," Charlie says from where his face is buried in the fabric of his jeans, and Mac bumps his shoulder lightly.

"Well- what do you wanna talk about?"

"I'm not gay."

"I never said you were, dude."

"I'm not straight."

The words are out there now, and Charlie is glad he doesn't have to look at Mac because the way the silence feels on his back is shattering. It's deafening, and Charlie waits for the other man to get up and walk away but instead there's a gentle bump of his shoulder. A _go on, I'm listening. Tell me._ So Charlie does. 

He talks about how it started with weird feelings in his stomach for this one guy and even though he hated other boys touching him it was always alright with this guy. He doesn't look at Mac when he says this. "I- like, I really didn't wanna be a whore, dude. Some guy kind of just thought I was this one time, and I stuck with it 'cause I was really high and he offered me 500 bucks for a BJ. And like, it wasn't awful all the time. Just most of the time."

Mac's staring at him when he finally looks up, and-

"Mac, are you _crying_?"

"You're crying too- fuck off, man," he sighs, but he's smiling. "God, this is really queer."

"Yeah, but like, so are we, I guess."

"Did you ever tell Dennis you were into him, then?" Mac sighs, grabbing a large rock and throwing it over the train tracks. 

Charlie drops the rock he's about to throw, because _what?_ And just in case Mac didn't hear the first one in his head, " _What_?"

"Dude- you said there was this one guy, and Dennis was always kind of touchy in high school 'cause he loved attention. You- you're talking about Dennis, right?" And Mac sounds so desperate for it to be right that Charlie can't tell him now. Probably couldn't ever tell him. It's like there's a big red button in the center of his head. He's been skirting around it for years and years and years - pushing it will either lead him to elysium or nuclear war. And yeah, it could make everything better than it could ever be otherwise, or it could tear apart everything he's spent years cultivating, and nothing is worth risking that. No matter how happy it could make him. So he hums, kind of nods and leans into Mac's side to indicate the conversation about Dennis is over.

They sit in silence until Frank pulls up, sticks his head out of the window and chats some shit about how he knows he fucked up and he's glad Charlie didn't off himself and he's really actually sorry. And yeah, Charlie doesn't want to talk to him right now but Frank's only expressed remorse like, four times in his life, so he accepts it as a genuine apology and tells Mac to yell a thank you over to the car. Then Mac is saying "c'mon, the sun's gonna come up soon and I'm tired as shit," and leading him towards the car. 

They sit in the front, but Charlie doesn't lean his knees towards the gear stick like normal so Mac can grab his knee if they have to stop suddenly. The decision not to confess was a confession in itself, that no matter how much he loves Mac, he will never, ever be able to tell him. There's a rift between them now, and it seems like the other man can feel it even though he doesn't really know why. So Charlie looks out of the window at absolutely nothing and thinks about Mac and doesn't think about Mac at all. 

Suddenly, he's really glad Mac rolled his eyes and said "seatbelt, idiot," when they got in the car, because Charlie doesn't wear a seatbelt as a rule (unless Mac tells him to) and Mac's just slammed on the breaks going 40. 

"Dude," Charlie groans, rubbing his knee where it smacked on the car door and turning to face Mac. "I don't- why'd you stop, man, the road isn't-"

" _I can't do this_ ," he whispers, but Charlie hears it and doesn't say another fucking word. "I'm- I'm sorry, dude. I can't just _know_ and not ask. I have to do this."

"What are you saying, dude? Are you gonna kill me?"

"I- what? _No_! Why would I - never mind. What I _mean_ is I can't find out you aren't straight and not ask you." Charlie holds his breath, scared he's dreaming and any sudden movement is going to bring him harshly back to reality. There's no way this can be real - what's happening is almost definitely that he went to the train tracks and Mac _didn't_ come, so he got really high. "Y'know how, uh, you had that thing for Dennis," is how he starts, and Charlie doesn't even have time to try and correct him before he's launching into something else. "What would you say if I told you I kinda felt the same way?"

"About Dennis?" he asks, because he has to ask, has to be sure. Mac is looking everywhere but at him.

"About _you._ " He pauses, takes a deep breath. Charlie was planning on locking the big red button away, had decided it wasn't worth the risk but Mac had come and pushed it for him. "Sorry, dude- forget it, don't bring it up again. I didn't mean to make you like, uncomfortable or anything," he sighs, dejected, and Charlie realises he never actually responded.

"Dude," is all he can say, because it's simply too gay to get choked up over this but he fucking is anyway. "I've been in love with you since we were like, eight, man."

Mac finally looks at him. 

"What? You mean that, dude?"

"Of course I mean it, man, y'know I wouldn't lie to you about that shit. It's like, I always loved you so much, but like you were having a whole gay crisis and whatever and I didn't want to make it an even bigger problem."

"But- I came out, though."

"You accepting you were gay didn't mean you like, loved me back or whatever. You never made a move, and I'd rather be eternally depressed than ruin us being bros, dude."

Mac moves suddenly, hand on the back of Charlie's neck and looking right into his eyes and Charlie wants to laugh, because he's never felt so _free_ before, and here's Mac, after all this time, still asking for permission. So Charlie closes the gap and Mac's lips are as soft as they look - with anyone else, he's always thinking _am I doing it right_ and _where do my hands go_ and _I hate this so much_ but this is the best thing he's ever done because it makes so much sense. When they met Mac said they were made to be best friends and he's never agreed with him more than he does right now. It just feels natural, Mac's fingers curled in his hair and his own gripping the front of Mac's shirt, natural like every time it's just him and Mac and it feels like they're supposed to be near each other.

Then Charlie has to lean away because he's grinning, and he looks like an ass but he couldn't care less if he tried because it's _Mac_ and it always has been. "I pressed the button," he whispers, and Mac doesn't understand at all because he doesn't need to. Instead, he leans in and kisses Charlie again.

It feels like home.


End file.
